by Alex Archer
She was sure that Awena hadn’t done it deliberately, but the woman was smart. It didn’t take her long to realize she could use the fire and dry foliage to her advantage.
Another shower of sizzling leaves came at her as Awena slashed forward through the bushes. Annja stayed back. Another cascade of leaves and smoldering ash filled the air, Awena’s sword rising and falling slash after slash, until the low-hanging branches of several trees lining the narrow path were ablaze. The flames crackled and spat, spreading with alarming speed as they fed on the brittle vegetation.
Annja sliced through the burning vegetation with her own sword, bringing a mass of it crashing to the ground. It wasn’t enough to stop the spread of the fire, and it blocked part of the path. She hacked at the overhead branches again, but it was obvious there was nothing she could do to stop the fire.
She really hated fire.
It made her skin crawl.
It blazed in her darkest, deepest nightmares.
She could feel its phantom heat bite into her flesh.
Annja rocked back on her heels and launched herself over the burning branches, and saw too late that Awena had spilled a blazing pile of cardboard across the pathway, which she came down in the middle of.
Raging flames licked out across the path. Through them, Annja caught a glimpse of Awena looking back over her shoulder as she bolted.
Flames tore at the asphalt-coated fence that separated the path from someone’s garden. The stench was foul. The rising heat battered her back. She felt the burning cardboard sear at her ankles, the heat coming up through the soles of her feet even as the branches overhead dripped fire down on her.
Getting through the cordon of fire wouldn’t be easy.
She tried to kick as much of the cardboard away from the fence and stamp the fire out even as more flames tore up the fence and raced down the path. The acrid smoke stung her eyes. She really felt it where her face was burned, as though the sores that had begun to scab the day before were opening up again to welcome the fire into her flesh.
She lashed out in frustration, but the flames battered her back.
Awena had used her time well, lining the alley with garbage and everything imaginable that would burn, knowing she might need a path of fire to make her escape.
Annja heard the sound of a car’s engine roaring into life.
Dizzy and reeling, she staggered away from the flames back toward the mouth of the alley.
Coughing and spluttering, she emerged by the school gates. The fire raged behind her. There was every chance it might make the leap from the trees to the roof of the school if the wind picked up.
She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 999. “Fire,” she said when the operator asked her which service she required. She read the name of the school off the sign beside the gate and explained that the entire alleyway running beside the schoolyard was ablaze. She could hear the wail of the sirens before she hung up.
She’d parked the Porsche in a side street a little farther down the road, knowing Awena would recognize it if she saw it anywhere near the school. She started to run toward it, but even as she did the bright yellow car swept toward her, Roux behind the wheel.
She hadn’t even realized she was still running with the sword in her hand until she saw a woman standing in a doorway across the street staring at her. That was one reliable eyewitness report the police were going to have. A woman with burn marks on her clothes and clutching a sword got into a new yellow Porsche driven by a white-haired old man and fled the scene of the fire, Officer. You didn’t get many of those to the dozen.
“In,” Roux snapped, not stopping the car.
He slowed just enough for her to pull the door open and throw herself into the vehicle. She simply let go of the sword, knowing it would return to its one safe place in the otherwhere.
Even before she’d slammed her seat belt into place, Roux floored the gas and roared away, the engine complaining that the gear needed shifting in less than two seconds. The sheer force of the acceleration pressed Annja deep into the passenger’s seat. Awena may have had a couple of minutes’ head start on them, but the Porsche was chewing up the streets in seconds. As Roux ramped up through the gears, it was a matter of seconds rather than minutes before they were closing the gap on her fender.
“Roux, Roux,” Annja said as the Frenchman powered on remorselessly. “Roux, you’re going to hit her!” Visions of the mountain road and Owen Llewellyn’s car going over the barriers flashed before her eyes.
“Enough people have died over this sword. It ends here,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he intended to ram the car in front of them off the road or not. There was something deeply troubling about the intensity of his gaze as he stared straight ahead, foot flat to the floor.
He pulled out to overtake at the last second, shifted gear and accelerated, pulling up side by side with Awena’s station wagon.
A car horn blared frantically.
Annja saw almost too late that another car was coming around a bend ahead of them, hurtling straight toward them.
There was no chance it was going to be able to brake in time.
Fifty yards.
It was a sports car.
Forty.
Thirty.
Roux wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t pulling over. He was driving straight at the car bearing down on them.
“Roux!”
She grabbed the wheel and yanked it sharply, pulling the car across the front of Awena’s station wagon. The sudden move meant their momentum threatened to put the Porsche on its roof.
It entered a gut-churning three-sixty, tires screeching, Annja screaming as she braced for impact as the cars tangled in a type of spin with the oncoming car. One carrying the other around and around in an endless dance of rubber, glass and buckled steel.
When the car finally slowed into the final arc of its wild spin, she saw Awena’s station wagon had left the road and come to a halt at an angle with one wheel caught in a ditch.
Annja had released her seat belt and was out of the door even before the car had come to a complete halt. She sprinted toward the car as fast as she could. Smoke billowed up from the radiator grille.
She heard an ominous ticking coming from deep down inside the wrecked station wagon.
Chapter 48
“Awena!”
A strong smell of gasoline filled her lungs.
She grasped the door handle and pulled at it, but the door was locked or the impact had buckled it so much it wouldn’t open no matter how hard she pulled at it. The engine was still running and one wheel continued to turn even though it was off the ground.
“Awena,” she called out again, hammering on the glass. “Get out of there!”
Awena was slumped over, barely stirring as Annja hammered on the window.
There was blood smeared on the inside of the glass where her head had hit it hard.
The air bag had deployed and the inside of the car was filled with the mist of propellant.
Annja banged on the glass frantically, but no matter how hard she did, Awena wasn’t coming around.
The first sign of a flame licked out from under the hood.
She knew that she had only moments to spare.
“Get back,” Roux called, running toward her.
The engine ticked alarmingly. The station wagon was seconds from bursting into flames; Annja knew that, but she couldn’t leave the woman to that fate. She couldn’t let her burn. No one deserved that. Ever. She had to get her out of there one way or another.
Without thinking about it, she reached into the otherwhere, her fingers closing around the reassuring grip of her sword as she pulled it into existence.
She stepped back and hit the rear window with the pommel. One single rock-hard b
low with every ounce of strength she could muster behind it.
Glass flew in every direction, shards gouging into the fleshy parts of her hand even as she dropped the fabled blade and reached inside to unlock the driver’s door. She heaved it open. Awena gave out a groan and shifted. She wasn’t coherent. She wasn’t helping herself.
Annja pushed the air bag aside and reached across to release Awena’s seat belt.
As she did, Awena opened her eyes and reached out viper-fast, grabbing a tangle of hair and slamming Annja’s head against the steering wheel.
The impact filled her ears with ringing and left her blind and dizzy and reeling.
Somehow the clasp on the belt released and Annja lurched away from the car dazed and confused by the ferocity of Awena’s attack.
“Get out!” Annja shouted, clutching at the side of her head.
Part of her wanted to leave the woman there, let her pay for her crusade with her life just like her father, but Roux was right—too many people had died for this sword.
Annja stumbled forward again, determined to drag her out of the car even though Awena was still hell-bent on killing her.
She grabbed Awena’s arm and pulled her until she started to tip out of her seat.
Awena struggled against her, obviously in serious trouble.
The flames climbing out from under the hood grew higher and higher by the second, the explosion gathering, ready to blow. It could only be a heartbeat away. Two at most. Annja pulled with all of her might, and Awena tumbled out of the car. The sudden shift in balance betrayed Annja and sent her tumbling backward.
In an instant the woman was standing above her, half of her face covered in blood, eyes bulging with the effort of standing, screaming, the sword of Wales swinging down toward her face.
The air was filled with the sound of thunder that wasn’t thunder.
The explosion ripped through the car, tossing huge twisted metal parts of the frame into the air and down the street.
Awena fell on top of Annja, blown forward by the force of the blast, and inadvertently shielding Annja from the worst of it.
The world fell silent.
Annja struggled to push the woman off her, rising painfully to her feet. She could feel the heat of the fire against her face.
Frantically she looked around. She saw Roux running toward them. His mouth was opening and closing but she couldn’t hear anything.
She bent down to see if Awena was still breathing. The woman was stubborn. She clung to life every bit as tenaciously as she clung to the sword, but now its flames barely flickered along its length, dimmed as though in response to the strength and vitality leaking out of her body.
Awena shifted, and for a sickening moment Annja thought she was going to lash out with that damned sword, using her dying breath to take her down. Annja had had enough and instantly Joan’s sword was miraculously in her hand as Awena struggled to get to her feet.
It seemed impossible that Awena could survive the blast but then she had fallen out of a second-story window and walked away. She seemed capable of enduring any amount of pain. She lifted her sword once more, meeting Annja’s gaze head-on. But she couldn’t maintain the stance and sank to her knees even as the sword seemed to be spilling out of her hands. With one colossal final effort she drove the blade into the ground in front of her to act as a support and lowered her head.
Annja felt Roux’s hand on her shoulder.
It was over.
It had to be over.
The emergency services would be there soon. She could hear the sirens. It was the only thing she could hear. Faint. Muffled. The paramedics would give Awena all the help she needed. They had to pry the sword from her hands, but at least they weren’t cold, dead hands.
The woman’s mouth moved silently.
A smile spread across her face.
Annja saw someone walking toward them. The driver of the other car.
It was no random stranger; it was her brother, Geraint Llewellyn.
Enough of Annja’s hearing returned for her to hear him calling his sister’s name.
Chapter 49
“You did this?” Geraint demanded.
He grabbed the sword from Awena’s hands. There was no flame when he held it.
“No, she didn’t,” Roux said. “I did. But in my place you would have done the same.”
“The hell I would.”
“I couldn’t let her do it.”
“Do what? What was she going to do that was so bad you had to just about kill her?”
“She was going to kill the Prince of Wales,” Roux told him flatly. His voice betrayed no emotion, no judgment.
“I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t do something that stupid...I mean...why? Why would she?”
“Because of what they did to our family,” Awena whispered. She sounded weak. She needed help and she needed it quickly.
“What are you talking about, Awena?” Geraint said.
“We are the last Llewellyns,” she said. “The heirs of the Last...we are the children of kings. You’re the true prince, Geraint, not him...I was doing it for you...for all of us. For every Llewellyn who lived without what was theirs. Rightfully. For every one of them who lived in the shadow of England.”
“You’re crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve lost your mind. You sound just like Dad.”
“It’s not her,” Roux said. “It’s the sword. It changes some people. It gets into their heads and makes them do things. Things they wouldn’t usually do.”
“This sword? It’s just a stupid piece of metal. There’s nothing magical about it. Nothing that can screw with someone’s head. It doesn’t make you a princess or me a prince. My father wasted his life looking for it.”
“Let me take it,” Annja said, holding out her hand for the sword. “Let me make it safe.”
“What will you do with it?”
“Put it in a place where no one will ever find it,” she promised.
In the distance the sound of sirens grew louder. Annja had no idea if this was an ambulance, the police or a fire engine on its way. It could well be all three responding to her call.
“Give me the sword. If the police arrive and find it, there will be more questions. A man died in St. Davids. This is the murder weapon. Let me dispose of it and all we have is a car accident.”
Geraint held the sword up and examined it for a moment, but there was no obvious sign that he was being enthralled by its glamour. It was nothing to him and he was nothing to it. He tossed it up into the air.
Annja snatched it.
“No!” screamed Awena as Annja took hold of it. There was no flame this time. She looked at Roux.
“Magnesium in the metal,” Roux said. “It reacted to something in her skin, their DNA,” he said. “It had been buried so long it had become volatile. The flame could never have lasted. It was burning itself out.”
“No,” Awena repeated. She was weeping. “It is mine...it knows me...it burns at my touch. I am worthy of it. It’s my birthright.”
“Awena,” Roux said quietly. His voice was enough to break the sword’s tentative hold on her and she fell to her knees.
It was over.
An ambulance approached. Geraint stood in the middle of the road waving frantically for it to stop. “Please,” he said to Annja. “Take the sword and get out of here. This is my problem. She is my sister. Let me look after her. I won’t let her hurt anyone, I swear.”
Annja believed him. She passed the sword to Roux and hobbled back to the car.
Roux fired up the engine and they pulled away before the police arrived.
Annja took a single glance back in the mirror and saw a brother and sister embracing, backlit by the flames from her burning car.
&
nbsp; They looked like they’d been to hell and back.
Back. That was the important part.
Chapter 50
The square was deserted when Annja, Roux and Garin finally sat down outside the coffee shop that evening.
The cobbles were littered with the debris of the day; flags and bunting trodden underfoot looked sad and not a little tragic. The council workers were emerging to clear it all away. The police had long gone and the barriers had been stacked and removed, freeing up the roads.
Garin had arrived about an hour after the fun ended. Just in time to meet the young waitress as she finished work.
“So how did you make sure that the prince didn’t roll up in the middle of it?”
Garin grinned that raffish grin of his. “No prince wants to walk into the middle of a protest by a Welsh Nationalist group. I put an amber alert out. Easy. They simply changed the route for the prince’s car. But there’s bad news, I’m afraid,” he added. “The Porsche needs to be back in Caerleon tonight. Your hire car will be waiting for you good as new.”
“Unlike the Porsche,” Annja said.
“I don’t want to know.”
“You really don’t. But it wasn’t my fault.”
“Right, two cars wrecked in less than a week. One is an accident, two is downright careless. Still, good job you didn’t hang around waiting for the police. You might have had to answer one or two awkward questions.”
“Not much of a vacation,” Roux said.
“Oh, I don’t know—fast cars, sword fights, even a royal prince at the end of it. A girl could do worse.” She smiled.
Once they had finished their coffee she walked back to the hotel with Roux to collect his belongings, leaving Garin to deal with the waitress, who seemed far too eager to serve him.
They said their goodbyes, Roux assuring her that he was going directly home to the château in France.
Home. That sure sounded good to her.
It wasn’t until she was cutting through the gorge this side of Caerleon that Annja remembered the letter lying in the glove compartment. Sure, it would still be there when she reached the hotel, but the hotel was a long way off and with each mile that sped by, the urge to finally read it increased. Roux had been so enigmatic about its contents and wanting her forgiveness and trust. How could she not read it?
